


Code Monkey

by der_tanzer



Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-01
Updated: 2010-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Code Monkey have no future but what he make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Code Monkey

**Author's Note:**

> For the Pier56 Glad All Over challenge. Inspired, of course, by Jonathan Coulton's _Code Monkey_. PG for language.  
> 

The alarm rang at six and Murray's arm snaked out from under the blankets to turn it off. He lay on his back, eyes closed, and counted to sixty before getting up. He used to love going to work every day—writing software, building small devices, programming, hacking, learning—there was barely time to sleep with all the learning he yearned to cram into each day. But that was before.

The pre-programmed coffee maker woke at a quarter to six so there was always a fresh pot ready when he wandered into the small kitchen, barefoot in his robe and pajamas. He poured a cup, added a touch of milk, and drank it on his way to the bathroom. Shower, shave, top off coffee, eat a piece of toast, and then drive to work. Just the same as every day.

Walking into the office, his manager Rob waylaid him at the door and said he was late for the morning meeting.

"What meeting? I'm supposed to be finishing the Stevenson project today."

"That's what we need to talk about. I showed the Stevenson people what you had so far and they are _not_ happy."

"What? Of course they're not, it isn't finished. There was nothing to—when did you show it to them?"

"Yesterday, while you were at lunch."

"Oh, for Pete's sake. There was even less to show them at lunchtime. What on earth…"

"Let's talk in my office."

They passed Murray's cubicle on the way and he put his jacket and briefcase on his chair, then followed Rob into his office, already biting his tongue in preparation for the criticism to follow.

"Mr. Stevenson was extremely unimpressed. We couldn't even get the login page to work, and it was—shall we say—less than attractive. You know he wanted an _elegant_ design for his website."

"And he'll have it," Murray said tersely. "I said it would be ready _today_ , not lunchtime _yesterday_. What did you expect?"

"I expected you to have at least _something_ done."

"And I _do_. It just isn't all put together. What you were accessing is just _parts_."

"Sure, parts that don't _work_. What's the good of that? You're telling me that bunch of broken links all coded together is better than individual broken links? Bozinsky, we hired you based on your stellar reputation, but I have to say, I've never seen any proof that it's deserved. I know you're working hard, putting in the hours, but what I see you producing is a lot of mediocre, dysfunctional junk that, quite frankly, isn't worth what we pay you. Not by half."

Murray took a deep breath and counted to ten, thinking, _Maybe you should just do it yourself, then. Oh, wait, you can't. You're not a programmer. You're a "manager" because you can't_ do _anything. Except sabotage your programmers and make your own company look incompetent._ But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he let his breath out slowly and nodded.

"It'll be done by the end of the day," was all he said. "Just like I promised. Like we agreed in the contracts."

"You'll have to forgive me if I remain unconvinced," Rob said sarcastically. "I'll need to see the finished site before you leave today."

Murray nodded shortly and went back to his cubicle. It was as cramped and awful as everything else here, and they never let him do anything cool. He worked steadily until noon and then escaped to the lunch room. There was a time when he enjoyed working so much that he forgot meals, but that wasn't a problem anymore.

However, there was one good thing about ComTech Unlimited. Not their communications or their technology, both of which were extremely limited, but rather their receptionist, Kathy. Murray liked her a lot. He ate his sandwich and Fritos in a corner by himself, and then got two cans of Mountain Dew from the vending machine. Walking back to his cube, he swung off course just a little and noticed there was no one else at the front desk. Just Kathy, typing something on her computer.

He wandered over, trying to be casual about it, and cleared his throat.

"Hi, Kathy. That's a—a lovely sweater you're wearing today."

"Thanks," she said shortly, not looking up.

"I like purple," he went on, trying to keep the conversation afloat. "And it really brings out your eyes. Say, I have an extra soda if you'd like. I could get you some ice and—"

The phone rang and she snatched it up as if she'd been waiting for news of her child's biopsy results. Murray waited another minute but she didn't look at him again.

Back at his own desk, there wasn't much to do. It only took him an hour to finish putting together the Stevenson website, and while it was a good job, it left him feeling unsatisfied. He wouldn't get the credit it deserved because the boss had undercut him by showing it too early, and now it would look like he'd only gotten it done on time because had Rob called him on his deficiencies. In fact, Rob would likely take the credit for "inspiring" him at the last minute.

As he prepared an email to Rob, he thought about why he still worked here. It wasn't to satisfy his creative needs, that was for sure. Was it really so he could keep trying to flirt with Kathy? A woman who didn't know his name and probably couldn't tell him apart from the other twelve code monkeys on their floor? What a waste. He could be curled up in bed with a book and an entire coffee cake right now, instead of slaving away for that self-righteous asshole who couldn't design so much as a login page if his entire career depended on it.

No, this wasn't what he wanted. He wanted peace and quiet and time to do what he was good at. He wanted friends and family and love, not an office full of backstabbers and snobby receptionists. What he wanted wasn't here, and deep down in his secret heart, he'd known it all along.

Murray sent the email, shut down his computer, and reached for the phone.

"Hi, Cody? Yeah, it's me. How are you? Oh, good. Me? Well, I don't—that is to say—yeah, not so good. Look, were you serious last Christmas, about needing full time help? Because I changed my mind. I—I miss you guys and I want to come home."


End file.
